


Good Intentions

by madsthenerdygirl



Series: Your Red Eye Sees No Blame [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-29 10:54:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6371995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madsthenerdygirl/pseuds/madsthenerdygirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's been down this road before and knows where it leads, but that can't stop her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Intentions

**Author's Note:**

> This work was originally posted on fanfiction.net in 2013 and is now being crossposted here along with the rest of my work.

She should have known that he was behind all of this. He's behind nearly everything other than the Apocalypse, and even then he had a hand in things. She does her best to stay objective, to do her job, but reprogramming Castiel is difficult enough without knowing it's to take down her ex… whatever he is.

In the end she fails, and she realizes that Castiel's humanity cannot be stripped from him. She had been warned of the Seraph's relationship with the elder Winchester. Her superiors used the term "profound bond," which is basically angel-speak for deep emotional attachment. She should know. She's had her own profound bond. But the depths of Castiel's feelings did not hit her until he refuses to kill Dean Winchester, vanishing not only from her plane of existence but from her consciousness entirely. She cannot reach him, cannot trace him. He is lost to her.

She goes to the crypt, just in case. Perhaps there is a clue, some way to track down her wayward charge.

Instead, she gets Crowley.

She knew him by a different name, once. He was in a different vessel, as well, but that's neither here nor there. That mask doesn't matter, only the person wearing it.

He's as big of a bastard as ever, which shouldn't surprise her. She does her best to focus on why he's here, and what he's after, and the task at hand (namely, Castiel) instead of what he's actually saying. He references Mesopotamia in an  _we'll always have Paris_  tone that makes her want to smite him if she could, but it's at the suggestion of a deal that she snaps.

The last time he said that she ended up with his dick balls-deep in her, and she's pretty sure she shattered a few glass objects with her shrieks.

She vanishes back to her office and tries to calm her vessel's annoyingly fast heartbeats.

She sends out every agent that she has at her disposal, but they all come back empty-handed. It makes her want to pound at the walls in frustration. Castiel can't have vanished off the face of the earth. He is still bound to the material world. He can't hide in Hell, Heaven is barred to him, he certainly isn't back in Purgatory, and the Old Gods locked the doors long ago. Perhaps she needs to cast a wider net, search Canada and South America, maybe even the Old World.

She's not sure what draws her back to the crypt again, because it certainly doesn't hold the answers she's looking for. She paces slowly around the room, trailing her fingers over the dusty objects. She let her duties slide once, let her judgment get hazy in her quest for something she shouldn't have been craving in the first place, and she can't mess up again. There'll be no second chance this time.

"Think he'd come back to the scene of the crime? What is this, an episode of Scooby-Doo?" His voice is more amused than cutting. She resents him for a lot of things, but his cavalier attitude towards their whatever-it-was is definitely close to the top of the list.

"Why are you here, Crowley?" She asks.

He smiles. "Maybe I was waiting for you, love."

She folds her arms stoically. She has to remain in control.

The problem is that, with him, she was able to give up control.

Damn this whole situation.

"I know that you're no further along in getting your pet project back," he notes, his tone infuriatingly smug. "Now, before you pull a Batman on me again, I suggest that you and I have a talk."

"There's nothing to talk about."

"Isn't there? We're both after the same thing. We've worked together before, I'm sure we can do it again."

"We can't both have the angel tablet."

"That tablet means nothing without a translator," Crowley points out. "How about one of us takes the real deal while the other takes a copy, and we both try to find a translator on our own? First one to the finish line wins."

It does sound reasonable, so long as she gets the real tablet. She knows better than to mention it, though, or he'll raise his price.

"As for Castiel…"

She can't lose her charge, not even to Crowley. "I get him."

"As long as he suffers, he's all yours." Crowley smiles, and she raises her chin.

"Trust me, Castiel will suffer the consequences of his actions."

He nods, chuckles at the scaffolding on the ceiling. "You were always wonderfully creative in your methods. It was such a thrill to watch you torture."

She levels her gaze at him, trying to look imposing without sinking to an actual glare.

"But," he adds, "I get the Winchesters."

She considers this. Neither she nor her superiors have any interest in Sam or Dean Winchester. It would probably be best, however, if Dean were to be… removed from Castiel's life. Killing Dean would prove that Castiel was broken, but it was a risk she couldn't afford to take twice.

"Deal."

He smiles again. "Seal it the usual way?"

She sucks in a breath that she doesn't need. She could demand a written contract, but that would be tantamount to waving a white flag in their current game of chicken. She gives a curt nod and waits.

He takes a step in, observing her. She rolls her eyes. "Are you g–"

He swoops in, claiming her the way he always has, and her vessel reacts without her consent, opening her mouth to him. Her train of thought derails violently, leaving her mind circling around one thought. Unfortunately, that one thought is in direct contrast to her actions.

 _We shouldn't be doing this,_  she thinks as he presses her up against a wall.

 _We shouldn't be doing this,_  as her hair comes loose from its clip and tumbles about her shoulders.

 _We shouldn't be doing this,_  as she pushes his jacket off.

She knows where this road leads and what happens next. It's a gently sloping path, wide and smooth, but it only leads downwards. She's not risking her position, and her Grace, again.

And yet, she keeps going. He keeps going (of course he does). And she wonders why every time she tries to serve Heaven she ends up giving into her own (selfish, carnal, sinful) desires.

And then it doesn't matter anymore, because it's grunts and pleading, sweat and scratches, thrusting and moaning, so base and earthly and  _wrong_. But she loves it. She will never admit it to anyone--especially him--but she suspects that he already knows.

* * *

"So you think that Naomi and Crowley might be teaming up?" Dean's incredulous, to say the least. Angels and demons don't work together (Cas's decisions notwithstanding).

"Yes. In my interactions with her, Naomi had a…" Castiel frowns, unable to find the right words.

"You were getting a weird vibe?" Dean prompts.

"She seemed to hate Crowley with an odd passion," Castiel finally declares, satisfied with his diagnosis.

"Gotcha." Dean is still puzzled, but he trusts Cas. This is  _his_  Cas, and his angel is someone he trusts above all else (except for Sam).

"You'll need my help," Castiel informs him.

Dean arches his brows a little, waiting for the other shoe to drop. "Is this your way of saying you're sticking around?"

Castiel nods. "Yes."

Dean feels warmth spread through his body, and he grins. "All right. But I still don't think your handler would work with the likes of Crowley."

Castiel shrugs. "Call it a hunch."

Dean barks out a laugh, because Cas having a hunch? That's cute.

* * *

He's still tucking himself back into his pants when she finishes cleaning herself up. She uses her Grace because there was no other way her hair was going to get back into that bun otherwise. He surveys her up and down, a glint in his eye that sets her on edge (and not in a good way).

"I must say I'm pleasantly surprised," he says with a leer. "You're as good--or should I say bad?--as ever."

She doesn't bother replying to that. At least he's learned what calling her a slut outside of copulation will earn him.

"You know, I didn't lie to you at the beginning."

"Excuse me?"

"The whole demon thing, and everything after… that was all bullocks," he says, nonchalantly flicking a spec of dirt off his coat. "Couldn't let you know the truth when I showed up as a part of Lucy's forces."

She struggles to comprehend what he's saying to her. So… the beginning, all of that…  _that_  was real, and what followed after was the lie?

"Doesn't mean I'm a goody-goody," he adds.

"If anyone could be match the depravity of a demon without actually being one, it's you."

"You always give the best compliments," he tells her, although she didn't mean it as one and he knows it. "Well, I'm off to be a slave driver some more. Lucifer's creations are almost as thick as your angels."

He gives her a peck on the lips, "for luck," and vanishes.

It's like a fog has been lifted, and everything is clear again. What has she done? A deal, that was one thing, but after, too, what has she gotten herself into?

She can't pretend she doesn't want it. That was a kind of release she hasn't gotten in millennia, and she's already craving more. But it's a downward spiral that has no bottom that she can discern. She has to keep her head on straight this time. She can't lose sight of her objective. Find Castiel, get the angel tablet, and clean up the mess her errant project has left behind.

She has good intentions, damn it, and those are what she has to hold onto.


End file.
